Chagrin
by Marilolo
Summary: Emma Woodhouse, considered perfect by many, respected by all, and loved by her friends and father, has every reason to believe that she leads a most charming, vexatious-free life. The question is: can it last? My interpretation of Emma's teenage years.
1. Chapter one

I have decided to throw away all present worries and just ... well, post this. I was saddened by the lack of Emma/Mr. Knightley stories out here, and since I am just so in love with the pair (obsessed, more like), I've decided to, er, add my stories to the mix, I guess. Please be gentle.

-Marilolo

- - -

'Do you believe you shall ever marry, Miss Taylor?'

Emma turned her head in inquisitiveness towards her companion, silently regarding the rippling surface of the lake, and only a faint blush showed her understanding and curiosity of the matter almost as much as Emma did; but Miss Taylor only smiled at the girl, which aroused such a suspicion that her eyes lit in excitement and she exclaimed passionately: 'Oh, do tell, Miss Taylor! Pray, for I am such a lonely creature here - my stories have all been duly read, you know they have! I have been so in want of a story, and I adore love stories - have you one to tell, Miss Taylor, perhaps of your own experiences?'

'A story! Emma, I have none of the sort! To be sure, if any man had regarded _me _with anything more than polite courtesy, I would have been head over ears in love by now. Nay, dear Emma, I am quite satisfied in being your governess, and assure you will be for many years to come.'

'Believing it so is difficult,' Emma responded slyly, 'as you blush violently. I dare say you are in satisfied denial, Miss Taylor! Or rather, too modest to share your history with such an unassuming friend as I?'

'I do not believe a girl any younger than five-and-ten should be questioning the state of my blush,' said she in light amusement, looking out across the lake. 'It is merely excercise that warms me.'

Emma bit back her words.

'Do you believe _you_ shall ever marry, Emma?' said her governess as she straightened Emma's shawl with her expert hands. A light breeze scattered Emma's hair and she pushed it back absently.

'I suppose everybody expects as much,' said the girl dispairingly. She sighed and turned to Miss Taylor.

'Whom might "everybody" be?'

Emma sighed again, as if to elicit a sympathetic response from her friend, but finding no solace in the silence, continued, 'Definitely not Father. He dreads change. He mourned for a fortnight after hearing of that splendid new parlour being built in Highbury. Of course, it replaced the old one, but one had to expect it after so many decades of dereliction. And the abomidable stench! I was very much pleased to see its removal. So very pleased. I was surprised Father was not, as he's always so afraid to catch cold, and the old parlour was so very drafty. It was appalling.'

Miss Taylor smiled. 'I believe you are avoiding the subject at hand,' said she, and it was Emma's turn to blush and turn away. She twiddled her hands idly in her lap before responding in a stiff manner moments later:

'Mr. Knightley -'

'Is not everybody,' Miss Taylor finished, smiling. 'He teases you.'

'_Teases me_! He would not dare it! I was being perfectly serious, and I asked in a perfectly serious tone! Tease me!' Emma crossed her arms over her chest in angry recollection, gathered herself, and spoke seconds later as if to settle the matter: 'He has no reason to do such a thing. There is no reason for Mr. Knightley to tell me, in my seriousness, that I should marry and that everybody wishes it.'

Miss Taylor spoke softly and smilingly: 'He has all the motive in the world, for one would be in low spirits indeed to refuse the wish of seeing little Miss Woodhouse defensive and speechless. For speechless you seem, my dear - do you not believe me? Do not fret yet, my dear girl, 'tis a while until marriage. Here -' and she pulled off Emma's grass-stained stockings; 'dip your feet in the water. They are filthy.'

'He should apologise,' said Emma stubbornly.

'Perhaps,' said her governess noncommittedly, watching Emma slip into the water, disregarding all pretentions, 'but his actions were all in playfulness, I assure you. Mr. Knightley is the last man on earth to hurt anyone intentionally, or by any fault of his own. He is much too amiable and gentleman-like for _that_.'

Emma felt unwilling to disagree or agree at that point and merely lowered herself entirely into the water. She hitched up her sun-dress, threw her bonnet to shore, and waded through the shallows to a small tree, where she sat, and watched Miss Taylor. _Tease me? What nonsense, _she thought, feeling bitter. She supposed it was not the idea of his teasing that made her grossly disagreeable at the moment, but the way in which she had trusted him - had been gullible enough to believe him. _Well_, she thought triumphantly, _now I shall never marry! What do you say to that, Mr. Knightley? I suppose you were wishing for the opposite effect! but no, I am going to stay at Hartfield and trouble you the rest of my lonely life! How unhappy and annoyed you shall be. _She laughed to herself and dipped one foot into the murky water. _Poor Mr. Knightley, even _he_ does not deserve such punishment._

'Do not fall, Emma,' warned Miss Taylor. 'Tea will be ready soon. I'll send a maid to fetch you. And do try to keep your dress clean!' she added as Emma slipped precariously close to the water.

Emma assured her that she wouldn't, thank you very much, and she had no intention of doing so. When Miss Taylor had left, Emma sighed and was happy to be left alone in her thoughts.

John and Isabella were expected that night at supper, and Emma, though not quite as fond as the match as her sister herself, was always pleased to see them and was delighted they were coming and bringing their son, Henry. Mr. Woodhouse had been thrilled they named the boy after himself, talked of him most happily as the heir of Donwell Abbey, but in secret, spoke to Emma that he rather would have Isabella stayed at home, single and childless, then have had to deal with the pangs of departure. Emma did not mind, not drastically anyways; she and her sister did not speak much; and she had Miss Taylor as a confidant, and Mr. Knightley as a source of most affectionate chagrin and annoyance, which he felt - and told her endlessly - was good for her.

He was so old a friend to the Woodhouses that Emma couldn't remember a single memory without him. It had been most delightful when Isabella and Mr. John Knightley were to be married; it had anticipated Mr. Knightley's even more frequent visits, his dropping by on the hour to comment on the weather, or play cards with Mr. Woodhouse, or critisise Emma's faults; but very discreetly and rather playfully, Emma came to know, for it distressed her father so that someone could think Emma less than perfect in every way. Mr. Knightley knew this; and in his own clever way, constantly teased her on it.

Emma turned around, aware of another presence, and saw Mr. Knightley's tall frame strolling towards her. She looked away as he approached, pretending not to appreciate his coming, and swirled her feet in patterns through the water.

'Emma,' he greeted as he walked through the tall grasses surrounding the lakeside.

'Good morning, Mr. Knightley,' said she, looking upwards from her feet. 'You are coming to supper tonight with John and Isabella, surely? You could not possibly pass up the opportunity to lecture me!' But inwardly, she was very much wishing that he would come; it would be exceedingly droll without his company.

'You flatter yourself with my frequent visits,' he replied, smiling. 'But -'

'Shall I see you tonight?' she interrupted hopefully.

'I'm afraid you will not have the pleasure of my graces this evening, Miss Woodhouse,' said Mr. Knightley, teasing slightly. 'I have business that will not be scheduled according to my pleasure; but perhaps I can see you tomorrow night, if you wish it.'

'Of course!' responded Emma, feeling disappointed, 'but Mr. Knightley, what sort of business?'

'Come down from the tree and I shall tell you.'

Emma stretched from one branch to the other, holding onto the trunk with a tight grip; but suddenly, the branch beneath her gave way; and screaming, Emma fell into the murky waters. For a moment she was dazed from the fall, but then arose, coughing and sputtering and moaning inwardly about the state of her sun-dress. She looked up at Mr. Knightley, who had obviously been rather anxious but slightly amused, and took the hand he offered to help her up the bank. Emma, dripping wet and waterlogged, walked to where she had laid her bonnet and shoes and tucked them under her arm furiously. Her cheeks were burning in embarassment.

'Oh, come now, Emma,' said Mr. Knightley, seeing the expression on Emma's face. 'It is only me; and besides, from this circumstance, I am obliged to carry you home, am I not? Is it not a gentlemen's duty to escort a girl in distress?'

'A lady,' corrected Emma, sending him a swiftly angry look that told him, quite plainly, not to tease in such a manner. 'I can walk quite well myself. One does not lose the feeling in one's legs after swimming, Mr. Knightley.'

'Swimming!' he repeated laughingly, but did not persue the subject.

'Now what of this business?' asked Emma impatiently, wringing out the water in her sun-dress. 'Where do you have to go tonight?'

'Bath,' said Mr. Knightley. 'That is why I came. To say good-bye, you know. I have to leave quite soon - in fact, I may already be late.'

'But why?'

The second shock of her day reached her by his countenance. Looking very embarassed and awkward (quite out of character), he said, 'There is a lady living in Bath with her mother whom I had known in my youth - school friends and such. I am going to visit her, on her request.'

'Tonight, of all nights?' asked Emma, looking at him in dissatisfaction. 'I find it hard to believe that a _lady_ would tear you away from seeing your brother, when you don't often have the priviledge.'

'It has been an engagement for a long time - I assure you, Emma, it has been arranged for quite a while now; and in her defense, she could not possibly know that she was disallowing me from seeing you.'

The way he said it made Emma instantly flare up inside. 'See _me_? No, no, Mr. Knightley, I am speaking on behalf of your brother, whom I know will be utterly disappointed if you do not attend tonight's meeting. Certainly not me! I understand that you may have other prior arrangements not regarding my presence - but John, he may not be so forgiving.'

Mr. Knightley smiled slightly at her, which enraged Emma so much she turned away and stared across the lake. 'My brother already knows. He was quite delighted about it.'

This took Emma quite by surprise, and feeling mutinous towards Mr. John Knightley, said in a resentful tone, 'Then I suppose it's fine.'

Mr. Knightley sighed. 'Emma -'

'It's fine,' she repeated shortly; 'you have an enjoyable time with your friend.'

They both turned as a maid from the house announced Miss Woodhouse's tea ready, and they both stood in silence, regarding the statement as the maid turned and rushed back through the front doors. Emma turned to Mr. Knightley, who was staring at her intently, and blushed under his scrutinizing gaze; it made her suddenly feel so very ashamed of her selfish behaviour. 'Emma,' said he, 'if there is any good reason why I shan't go, just say the word, and I will persuade her to re-schedule. But,' lifting up her chin gently with his hands, 'I cannot please everybody. You will learn this someday.'

Emma didn't meet his eyes when she urged him to go, and as he bade her farewell and strode back to where he had come, she so wished she had invited him to tea at the very least.

- - -

Emma was in such low spirits by the time suppertime came that nearly all her appetite had disappeared; and having nothing much to look forward to but the company of her nephew Henry, carefully stayed up in her bedroom pinning up her hair until she heard the sounds of company arriving and the 'how d'ye dos?' of John and her father. She was then obliged, against her will, to blow out her candle, turn from the mirror, and make her way downstairs. Emma found John and Isabella in the study conversing with her father before a large brick fireplace, and upon entering the room, a boy no more than three untwined himself from Isabella's arms and ran to Emma. She picked him up and smiled. Mr. Woodhouse beamed.

'What a loving aunt our Emma makes,' said he proudly.

His daughter and husband agreed, making Emma blush modestly. 'Oh, father, you give me more credit than is due.'

'Not at all, my dear girl!' said Mr. Woodhouse, sounding alarmed. 'I give you less! Who could ask for a more perfect daughter?' He turned to Isabella. 'And you, of course, Isabella. You look lovely tonight.'

'Thank you, Father,' she said. 'And you are well, I hope?'

Emma absently played with Henry's smalls fingers as they talked, and watched her sister exchange smiles with John every so often when the subject of children arose. Emma grew quite suspicious, and until she noticed the delicate swell of Isabella's abdomen did she understand what had transpired. It was clear that her father, oblivious in his own endearing way, had not realised what Emma had. It was all she could do to keep herself from laughing in delight. How she wished Mr. Knightley were here to celebrate the news with her! Sighing, she sat down next to Isabella and slowly sank into a stupor.

They were just starting on the topic of colds ('terrible things! Monstrously atrocious! Emma came home today soaked from head to toe, and I have not stopped worrying since!') when Miss Taylor announced supper ready and they went in to eat.

Emma did not take much of the food for her plate, despite it looking delicious, and settled on staring blankly at a flickering candle until an interesting conversation stole away her absentmindedness. Mr. Woodhouse was speaking:

'John, where is your brother? I was expecting him to drop by.'

Emma spared a look at John Knightley, who smiled and responded, 'Did you not hear? George has traveled to Bath; he told us he was meeting an old school friend, but Isabella and I have our suspicions. He is meeting a lady there, by the name of Lauren Purkey, and she is very wealthy - an entire estate was left to her after her father's death, despite her having two brothers and a very eligible cousin.'

'Really? Most extrordinary!' exclaimed Mr. Woodhouse. 'Is she a nice girl?'

'I believe I met her once,' said Mr. John Knightley. 'Though I cannot recall where ... In any case, George speaks very highly of her; praises her most sufficiently. And for good reason. She is one of the handsomest and delightful girls I have ever had the fortune to meet. A very good match, if I dare say so myself!'

Emma froze and blanched. Miss Taylor, from the seat adjoining hers, spotted her pale face.

'My dear, are you well?'

She felt the concerned eyes of the company boring into her face and she felt it would be unwise to contradict Miss Taylor's words; however incorrect, they presented a very convienient escape route and Emma seized it thankfully.

'I'm afraid not, Miss Taylor,' said Emma, coughing into her handkerchief and catching her father's eye; 'ever since my swim in the lake ...' She trailed off and watched in satisfaction the reaction her words had on her father.

'Go to bed at once, my dear! Miss Taylor, pray accompany her! Oh, Emma, what did I tell you about watching your health? I must insist upon it ... oh, but don't let me keep you waiting! Sleep does wonders for the shivers! Are you shivering, Emma? Miss Taylor, do keep her warm!'

Miss Taylor smiled at him and escorted Emma upstairs, where she helped the girl slide into her nightgown and tuck in to bed. The sounds of talking downstairs resumed, and Miss Taylor made no hesitation in saying slyly, 'Emma, you don't think that you can fool your governess, do you?'

Emma shook her head and smiled. 'I'm afraid you can see through my facade, Miss Taylor.'

Miss Taylor patted Emma's knee underneath the blankets. 'Don't expect me to come to your rescue every time.' She looked in concern at Emma's partly concealed face. 'But, my dear, what was _really_ the matter?'

'I don't quite know myself,' she answered truthfully; 'just the stew disagreeing with me, I suppose.'

'Well, whatever it is, I hope you're feeling well by the morning. Good-night, Emma.'

Emma bade her friend good-night and laid in bed, solemnly staring up at the ceiling. What was _really_ the matter? She frowned to herself and rolled over on her side. She wasn't being entirely truthful with regards to the question. She supposed it had something to do with Mr. Knightley, this writhing, biting feeling in the pit of her stomach. Emma felt resentful towards him as her feelings summersaulted wildly out of control; why hadn't he told her of this Lauren Purkey? Why had he kept such a thing from her? It was this, more than the actual event, that made her so cross as she blew out her bedside candle. He was hiding something from her, and this was so utterly out of character Emma could hardly bear it. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to think of other things, but as she drifted off to sleep, her mind restlessly stumbled onto the truth:

Mr. Knightley was to marry.


	2. Chapter two

Thanks for the reviews, **mel** and **nefertari516**! You two convinced me to continue (well, no, you more _prodded _me to continue, as I really like writing this story) and being my first story here, it really boosted my confidence.

But without further ado, here is chapter two:

- - -

Emma decided, the very next day, that as a friend, she was obliged to learn more about Miss Purkey and consult Mr. Knightley with her ideas and beliefs. It he was to marry (and the thought repulsed her quite too much to linger on), he might as well marry to his advantage, and being one of the wealthiest, most respected men in Highbury, there were few ladies eligible enough to prove worthy; and convinced, Emma resolved that her argument was perfectly in the right, and she worried no more about it.

But considering that if Mr. Knightley were to marry for love and love alone - well. Emma could not bear the thought of his degrading his level of propriety to an almost beggarly state, and in a fit of uncharacteristic anxiety on her part, immediately consulted Miss Taylor on the manner (though convieniently leaving out the man's identity). 'She was quite certain that a man of a large fortune and estate would marry for love, even if it was to his disadvantage. She would hope so, since it only increases the depth of his affections for her, and portrays his disinclination towards superficiality in a very good light.'

Rather than calming Emma's nerves, Miss Taylor's words left her in a state of inpenetrable shock, and she was inclined to believe (out of hopefulness more than anything) that since Miss Taylor did not know the object of her studies, was not suitable for advice and should therefore be ignored.

It seemed impossible to get any more information from John or Isabella on the subject the next day, even with her subtle clues and urging. Miss Purkey was obviously of no interest to them and Emma had to wonder if there was anything happening at all. Whatever the reason, Emma was anxious for Mr. Knightley's homecoming, where at Hartfield she could keep a watchful eye, and thanked the day that John and Isabella boarded their carriage and left for Randalls.

Emma then decided to consult her father on the matter, and in believable nonchalance she began the topic thus: 'Papa, have you heard of Lauren Purkey, by any chance? I remember her name from somewhere, but cannot recall where - it is quite irritating!'

'Miss Purkey?' asked her father with endearing obliviousness, 'Why, my dear, you met her at a ball some time ago! She was wearing that splendid lace dress - and you admitted to me how much you liked her, dress and all. She was very agreeable. I admire her very much.'

'I don't recall her,' Emma said flatly, trying to make it sound so, 'but I am sure she was very agreeable.'

Mr. Woodhouse beamed. 'Mr. Knightley could choose no better. The man deserves the very best - and I know how much you admire him, Emma, you must agree with me; I cannot wait to meet her!'

'_Meet_ her!'

'My dear Emma! You have not heard the news? Mr. Knightley did not tell you? He's coming back and bringing her with!'

Emma felt weak. 'To Donwell Abbey?'

Mr. Woodhouse looked confused, as if his daughter's nature surprised him: 'Of course, of course, Emma! Where else shall she go?' Emma frowned and Mr. Woodhouse sighed, 'Oh, my dear, I know it will be hard to get used to having another lady around the house, but you must try.'

Emma nodded, as if this were really the circumstance she was concerned with. 'I apologise. I'm being selfish.'

Mr. Woodhouse looked shocked. 'Nonsense! You have not a selfish bone in your body.' Then, kissing her forehead affectionately, he walked from the room.

- - -

Emma had time to dwell on this, to her displeasure. She had called it on herself most effectively, rebuked as usual, but now, it seemed fairly obvious that her nature was inclined towards selfishness. She tried to tell herself it was not true - to listen to her father's good judgement (however biased it was) - but however much she attempted it, it was impossible. Well, perhaps it was not selfishness, exactly - no! She was looking out for a most dear friend, Mr. Knightley, and it was in her best interest to make - no, _suggest_ - that he marry a respectable woman. That was all. Emma felt incredibly better afterwards. She would observe Miss Purkey that very night, and thus, judge whether or not she was right for him. It would be a most pleasing project.

Mr. Knightley came that very night, accompanied by none other than Lauren Purkey. As Mr. Knightley greeted her, Emma watched her. She was smiling pleasantly, looking very much pleased with her surroundings and doing much as a lady ought, complimenting their exquisite china and inquiring after Mr. Woodhouse's health with perfect sincerity. She even recalled Emma's name (to Emma's begrudging satisfaction) and told her she looked lovely, and that she was 'so very happy to see her, very pleased indeed, and that she had grown quite a lot since their last meeting!' Emma, stubborn as she was, only smiled and continued her scrutinization of her visitor. She had hair rather too reddish to compliment her companion's dark, her teeth were too white (almost dazzlingly so - quite distracting), she had only taken a bite of food, and she was too short to flatter Mr. Knightley's height, who towered a whole foot over her slim frame. The entire match was ill indeed, and despite their obvious mutual affection for each other, Emma thought that it was no more platonic than he had suggested. Lovers, indeed! School friends, at the very least! and Mr. Knightley was not _that _attracted to her, surely. She had a very sickly look about her. In fact, there was nothing that would draw him in but her pretty eyes, and _that_ was a trait not uncommon in women. No, Emma mused, Mr. Knightley was not in love with her.

Looking past Miss Purkey, Emma saw Mr. Knightley watching her. She immediately busied herself with her food, trying not to look foolish, and answered Miss Purkey's statement of 'I hear you play the pianoforte very well, Emma,' with a modest reply and small smile.

'Surely you are too modest, my dear. George says you are talented, and you know how he is when it comes to compliments!' She ended this with a doting smile his way and a little laugh.

_George? _Emma fumed. 'Yes, I know.' I think I know him better than you, she thought splenetically, watching this lady's abhorring flirtation.

Mr. Woodhouse chimed in, 'Emma plays marvelously, Miss Purkey! Perhaps she could play us a tune after supper!' He glanced at Emma and asked, 'How about it, my dear?'

'I could not impose -'

'Oh, it would not be imposing, Emma!' cried Miss Purkey. 'In fact, George and I would be quite delighted. George?'

Mr. Knightley only nodded. Mr. Woodhouse beamed.

It was not until after supper, when Mr. Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley had sat down together and talked, that Miss Purkey disentangled herself from Mr. Knightley to speak to Emma. Emma had just sat down to her pianoforte and was sifting through her music when the lady approached. The meeting was not at all welcome; Emma's opinion of Miss Purkey was dropping every moment. Everything about her screamed vularity, unintelligence, and a kind of saccharine sweetness that left one's mouth feeling bitter.

Miss Purkey settled herself in Emma's line of sight, glanced momentarily in Mr. Knightley's direction, and said, 'I wish to speak to you, if I may.'

'You may,' said Emma shortly.

'Privately?' said she. 'May we take a turn about the garden while there's still light?'

Emma, though infinitely displeased with the idea, was curious as to what subject Miss Purkey needed to broach with herself, and agreed to the turn. She told the two men where they were going, her father insisted she wear her shawl, and they walked together out to the garden.

They had just taken a full turn around the garden when Emma had had quite enough: 'Miss Purkey, if you wish to speak to me, do so immediately. I'm afraid my patience is not so defined as yours.'

'Please,' said Miss Purkey warmly, 'please call me Lauren. I do so despise formality, and we are so much friends - sisters, if I may suggest - to discard the tradition. Do call me Lauren.'

'I'm afraid,' said Emma with forced smiles, 'that I could do no such thing. You are Miss Purkey, and Miss Purkey you shall remain. And being nearly ten years my elder should secure our formality, unless I am much mistaken. Now, then, what do you wish to speak to me about?'

Miss Purkey seemed quite taken aback by Emma's statement, but continued nonetheless. 'I suppose you could not help but notice George and my "connection" these past hours. I wanted to talk to you, because, being an old friend of his, I know that it is important for you to know these things - and if you have not heard the news or figured it out by now (for you seem a clever sort of girl), I would like to do the great honour of telling you myself; that George and I, we, that is -'

'You're to be married.'

Miss Purkey could not have hidden her blush even if she had tried. 'Oh. I had suspected that you would know. Did George tell you?'

Emma found that it was that simple question that pained her most. She was most effectively hiding sorrow when she said, 'No, I'm afraid Mr. Knightley did not tell me anything.'

'Oh,' said Miss Purkey blandly. She sounded rather foolish. 'As a friend of his, I thought that you might want to know.'

'Of course,' said Emma.

Miss Purkey said, 'Granted, it's not _quite_ in place ...'

'Did Mr. Knightley not propose?' asked Emma; in her mind was a sliver of hope.

She shook her head. 'I'm sure he meant to - but my brothers ... Oh, Emma, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. George and I had discussed it quite some time ago - marriage, you know - but because of my father's ill health and my brothers' strong objections to the idea, we have not seen each other in nearly five years. You must have been nine years old - surely you do not remember?'

Emma shook her head and Miss Purkey continued: 'I finally convinced my brothers to let me see George, but now that I have ... he's ... not exactly himself. Now, do not fret - I do not mean in health; I mean to say that -'

At that very moment, the doors opened. Miss Purkey and Emma turned around.

'Ah, there you are, my dear! Time to come inside now - and you, Miss Purkey, I would not forgive myself if you caught cold!' Mr. Woodhouse ushered Miss Purkey inside, but Mr. Knightley stayed, and upon catching Emma's eye, meandered closer to her.

'I see you have been busy these past years, _George_, forming elopements with ignorant women,' Emma said icily.

Mr. Knightley looked sternly at her. 'Emma, that is uncalled for.'

'Uncalled for?' repeated Emma. 'She is a hateful, barbaric woman with no tact and little respectability!'

'Emma!'

'You have no idea of her relations! She could be a murderer! She could be plotting our deaths as we speak! Insufferable woman! It would not be unlike her to do so!'

Mr. Knightley looked simply furious with her.

Too riled up to stop, Emma said irritably, 'Mr. Knightley, as an unbiased opinion, you must appreciate my sincerity on the matter! As a friend, you have an obligation to listen to my judgement!'

Mr. Knightley frowned at her. 'And where does your judgement outdo mine? I am in charge of my own aquaintances, Emma. You are my friend, yes, but in the end, it is my choices that affect my life.'

'But _her_! _Her_ of all people!' hissed Emma angrily.

'I cannot afford to listen to you, a girl barely fourteen, on this matter.'

Emma fumed, 'I am nearly fifteen, and even you have confessed to me your respect of my sense, Mr. Knightley! Can I not express myself to you on this matter? This lady is inferior to you in every way; she is certain of your affections, despite -' Emma paused uncertainly and continued furiously, '_And_, without consent from you, she's making out that you and her are to be _married_!'

Mr. Knightley fixed a firm stare upon her, and so angry was his countenance that Emma looked away. 'Where did you hear that?'

'She brought me outside just now to tell me. Mr. Knightley, are you so blind to her faults that you cannot see the crass inclination of her ways? She meant to consult me on a matter of no understanding to myself, and having heard none of it from you -'

'Emma, that is quite enough,' snapped he. 'I quite feel your meaning. Speak no more.'

'Having heard none of it from you,' continued Emma with a dangerous flash of her eyes, 'I could only sit and listen with mortification. Did you ever mean to tell me that you were to marry Miss Purkey?'

'It cannot be surprising to you that I should marry someday,' said Mr. Knightley coldly.

'No, it cannot - but to a woman so grossly disagreeable in every possible way; I have to admit, I expected a woman of your aquaintance would be agreeable, and I dare say, elegant.'

At this point, Mr. Knightley said, 'Disagreeable to you, perhaps, because she derives attentions from you! Are you so spoiled as to think you my only object of affection? Emma, you amaze me.'

She clenched her jaw and turned away. How miserably did he misunderstand her! A pit of frustration was welling up in her stomach, and she felt so chafed by Mr. Knightley that she did not speak another word to him. She heard his angry footsteps retreat back into the house, but she did not follow, and it was only until she heard the sounds of Mr. Woodhouse's wishing them a good journey home did she come inside.

- - -

Mr. Knightley did not call on them the next day, which was not unexpected on Emma's part, and her dear father, ever amiable, was convinced that he and Miss Purkey were spending the day somewhere enjoying themselves 'as any young couple might.' Emma was inclined to believe differently, but did not mention this to Mr. Woodhouse, who would find it distressing, and Emma could not bear to distress her father in any way. In fact, only Miss Taylor noticed Emma's sullen mood, and in her quiet way, asked her about it. Emma disowned ever feeling unhappy, but as soon as Miss Taylor left the room, fell into a lapse of silent broodings, which did nothing to brighten her mood and everything to darken it.

Emma supposed she had been just _slightly_ too cruel to Miss Purkey, but she had every justification, and if it were not for Mr. Knightley's disapproval, would have insulted her further still. Emma could not pinpoint exactly what she dispised so much about the woman, but that was not the point, so she dwelt no further on its mystery.

It was about a week from her argument with him that he appeared in the morning to inquire after the both of them, and especially, Emma found, to make amends to their friendship. As they strolled along the cobblestone walkway, admiring the lake and gardens, Emma said, 'Mr. Knightley, I believe you think me more a simpleton than you had thought before.'

'Why do you say that?'

Emma sighed. 'If I were older you would have paid me heed. But being my age, you tend to disregard me as a source of intelligence and therefore, I am just a silly girl to be lectured as you please.'

Mr. Knightley had the hint of a smile playing across his lips as he answered: 'Really? You surprise me. I often think of you as a guidance counselor and a very abudant source of intelligence. And you are indeed sometimes a silly girl, but you have wit, and I respect your opinion more than I think I should.'

'Ha! there, I cannot believe you.'

'You shall someday,' said he quietly.

Emma smiled playfully at him. 'I doubt that. You will still be there telling me what to do, but having me ignore you and do just as I please. I am, and will always be, under the sting of your disapprobation.'

He shook his head, smiling.

'But as we're on good terms now, I hope,' said Emma excitedly, 'I wish to speak to you of a most pleasing circumstance. Isabella and John are expecting another child!'

Mr. Knightley smiled. 'That is wonderful news, indeed! Did they tell you?'

'I noticed, actually.'

'Ah.'

In the silence that followed, Emma turned her eyes from his and said steadily, 'Do you think you shall marry Miss Purkey?'

Mr. Knightley was silent for a moment before saying, 'I think that I cannot possibly know the outcome of the future, Emma.'

'So you are not planning on it?'

He did not answer her. Emma continued to peer across the grounds.

'Where is she now?' asked she.

'Home in Bath; she sends her apologies that she could not say good-bye.'

Mr. Knightley faced her as he said so and smiled in amusement.

Emma crossed her arms. 'How very unfortunate. I'm sorry to hear that she could not manage to tear herself from darling _George's _clutches to say good-bye to such a friend.'

She raised an eyebrow at Mr. Knightley and spoke no more.


	3. Chapter three

Thank you, thank you, once again, to all who reviewed! I appreciate it so much!

And without further ado, here is chapter three:

- - -

In the months that followed, Emma was quite content to rid her mind of the infuriating Miss Purkey; however, her awareness of the dreadful woman was in no way decayed. For Miss Purkey, in a truly abomidable perception that Emma enjoyed her companies as much as she did Emma's, was obliged to send her a letter at least once a week, on Wednesday. It soon became Emma's least favourite day.

If Emma was in good temper enough to _read _the letter, instead of throwing it into the fire as she did many others (with less regret than even _she_ deemed healthy), it contained such nonsense that she was constantly sighing in annoyance at the lack of wit it portrayed. Miss Purkey's hand was fine, Emma had to admit, but it was not merely elegance that was wanted in a woman who claimed to be Mr. Knightley's future wife. After the first couple of pointless letters, Emma did not have scruples enough to prevent her from tossing them away as she pleased; which, she reminded herself with satisfaction, she did not mind at all. The letters were long and tedious, and horrendously boring; and furthermore, Emma was in ready mind to destroy anything that pertained to the marriage between Miss Purkey and Mr. Knightley; whether it be letters, or relationships.

If Mr. Knightley could have witnessed her deeds, he would have been appalled - but Emma, whom had grown adapt at understanding his reactions to such manners at these, completely avoided the subject of the lady altogether.

And, excepting Wednesdays, the whole (or at least most) of Miss Purkey was driven most happily from Emma's head.

- - -

Nearly two months after Miss Purkey's departure from Donwell Abbey, two visitors came to call on Emma and her father who were wholesomely welcome, but not at all anticipated. It was a warm day, full of bright spirits, teeming with life, and _not_ a Wednesday; and Emma, feeling the need for a refreshing walk, had only just returned from the excursion when Miss Bates and Mrs. Goddard appeared at their door.

'Miss Woodhouse! Oh, dear sweet girl! I haven't seen you for ages and ages! Are you well? Have you gotten yourself a beau? How could you not, you pretty thing - no? I am surely amazed, quite thunderstruck, but surely you will - Oh! Mr. Woodhouse, what a pleasure! A pleasure indeed! It is quite a lovely day, is it not? The flowers are splendid; in front of Mrs. Goddard's schoolhouse are the prettiest daisies I ever did see - quite lovely, quite inspiring. If I did draw as you do, Miss Woodhouse, I may might have wanted to capture their beauty on canvas! But no, no - not all creatures are so lucky as you to harbour such a talent!'

Between breaths, both ladies were ushered inside and made to sit down. Emma noticed their rosy cheeks and bright eyes and determined they had been walking - this inference was quickly confirmed, and Emma was then to puzzle the reason of their unannounced visit, not that she minded the company. She was not willing to talk much, and Miss Bates was more than willing to help on that matter - hardly without topics to discuss, she was constantly dominating conversation in her own oblivious, amiable way. Emma would not have to speak much, if at all.

Miss Bates was speaking:

'It all happened around noon this day (and believe me, Mrs. Goddard and I were quite surprised!); all three of us - Mrs. Goddard, her young pupil Harriet, and myself - sat down for tea, and who should come by but the mail carrier? He brought a letter from Mother's parents in Bath. They seem to be aquainted with a family named the Purkeys, who - I am sure you will be quite astonished, Miss Woodhouse! - has a lady, courted by none other than Mr. Knightley! Is that not the most interesting news? Mother was quite pleased, quite pleased indeed. We have always been horribly fond of Mr. Knightley; a very pleasing, sophisticated man - and such a gentle countenance! I have been telling dear Jane Fairfax that if he had been any younger ... but no, no. She would not hear of it.'

Emma was in need, if not desperate, for a topic that did not involve Miss Purkey, and commented, 'Your niece does not think Mr. Knightley very old?'

'Well, I suppose - but she is very young.'

'He is but thirty years old!' cried Emma irately; 'a very young age for such a man! She would be fortunate enough to have his _friendship_, let alone his affections!'

Miss Bates coloured. 'Yes, very true. You are quite right.'

Mr. Woodhouse looked between his daughter and Miss Bates, and said amiably, 'I did not realise such news traveled so quickly, or that it had traveled at all! Miss Bates, you will be very interested to hear that Miss Purkey and Mr. Knightley called on us but two months ago. And together, I might add. I was very much pleased.'

'Indeed! Mr. Woodhouse, I am very happy for Mr. Knightley. He is so amiable and handsome - and in such good society - I had wondered before why he had not married. What do you think, Mrs. Goddard?'

'I am inclined to believe that he had not found a woman worthy of his affections,' said the lady quietly.

_Clever, clever woman! _thought Emma triumphantly.

Mr. Woodhouse smiled and glanced towards his daughter. 'Ah, but you forget his favourite! And _she_ really is worthy!'

Emma blushed. 'Papa, please.'

Miss Bates eyed Emma: 'Oh, but Miss Woodhouse, he is so fond of you! Such devotion from a man I have not seen in all my years! In fact -'

Emma stood up, her entire face crimson with embarassment. 'Pray, Miss Bates, do not speak of such things - if I may infer what you were about to suggest; for, despite all of his affections, I am sure Mr. Knightley has no feelings of the sort whatsoever towards myself - and I certainly do not towards him. And there you have it. It is a hopeless cause, I assure you - unpractible, unreasonable, and without a basis. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have promised Miss Taylor a walk this afternoon.'

And, with a slight smile, Emma left the room.

- - -

Miss Taylor, in fact, was quite surprised when Emma appeared in the kitchen, looking red in the face, and claiming to need a walk. She was more than willing to accompany the dear girl, and told her so with a touch of loving reserve, and Emma seemed to be appeased; so, together, they slipped out the back door and started up a path, Emma not speaking a word, and Miss Taylor lost in her thoughts.

It was hard to say who was more alarmed when Emma blurted out, sounding most distressed, 'Dear Miss Taylor, I am in such an awful mess! I must vent; I cannot keep this to myself any longer!'

Miss Taylor stopped walking completely and turned to face her. 'My dear child, what is it?'

Looking quite overrun with anxiety, Emma cried, 'Am I such a horrendous friend to want what is best? to dislike someone so passionately whilst others adore? Miss Taylor, I feel like the worst person alive! and yet, I cannot see why I should feel so strongly this way! I have only done what I think is right, and nothing less of such, but despite all of this, I have woven myself into a meticulous web of self-doubt and self-loathing; how shall I approach this I shall not know - for everyone seems to create their own story according to my own! Oh, and do not forget Miss Bates! Hideous, hideous, atrociously mannered woman! Saying something so inappropriate, so rash! The shame I feel!'

Emma burst into tears and flung herself into the arms of Miss Taylor, who recieved her graciously and spoke softly as a mother would into her ears, 'Emma, you dear, dear girl. It will be all right in the end, do not distress.'

She immediately withdrew from the sanctuary of her governess's arms, feeling mortified and ashamed at such a unwonted display of emotion. For Emma knew that Miss Taylor could not decipher her ramblings, and was ignorant to her woes; and such thoughts immediately stopped her tears of anxiety and frustration with humiliation. Emma lowered her head.

'Surely I shall not ask, in fear of creating more mortification,' commented Miss Taylor in tones of deepest sincerity. 'I shall soothe and I shall coax, but nothing more. It is not my place to ask, unless, Emma, you tell me what is bothering you so. Otherwise, I will tolerate not knowing, until years hence, when we shall laugh about it's frivolity.'

Emma smiled warmly at such considerate an exclamation. 'Dear Miss Taylor, it only heightens my regard for you to hear such words spoken! It is not a secret, nor should it be one. And, I shall tell you, certain that you will keep such ill-humours to yourself; and gaining such wisdom and appeasement on the matter at the same time, I will put it all behind me.'

Emma had readied herself for such a speach, drew in her breath; but just as fate would have it, her words were swallowed as the figure of a man came walking towards them eagerly. The paleness of Emma's face averted Miss Taylor's attention from the words she was waiting for, and looked around as Mr. Knightley approached them. She not but draw a line between the speach and his appearance, despite all rationale exclaiming the opposite; she was certainly just embarassed to be interrupted from an important talk with a white face, shaking hands, and bloodshot eyes. As Emma turned away to hide these symtoms, Miss Taylor smiled and greeted Mr. Knightley warmly.

Emma tried to keep walking, and Miss Taylor tried to keep Mr. Knightley's attention upon herself, but he would not pay any heed to anybody but Emma, and said most concernedly, 'Emma, are you feeling ill?'

Upon not recieving an answer, Mr. Knightley came around to her side and touched her arm tentatively, asking again what was the matter.

Her inability to answer such a question, the grief and frustration at the mess in general, had Emma at her wit's end; and instead of answering his question, turned to him and began sobbing onto his chest. Emma herself was beyond incomprehensible mortification, beyond caring at any rate, and allowed herself to be swallowed up by her own worries and misapprehensions. He probably hated her now, if that had not already been confirmed by her behaviour towards Miss Purkey; she might as well astonish him before the storm of lectures overcame her. Oh! but if she had kept her abuse to herself! It would have been simpler just to despise the woman in apparently unaffected, reserved silence.

Miss Taylor, who in every right understood when to quit herself of a situation, exclaimed her grief at having to leave them, and departed for the house with a prominant quickness of step not unnoticed by Mr. Knightley; he did not call for her to come back, however, and allowed Emma the sanctuary and comfort she needed. He, himself, was not to complain. And she, oblivious of Miss Taylor's absence, was unaffected by it.

Finally Emma drew back, having wept her share, and apologised most readily to Mr. Knightley, on having dampened his cravat; in the same breath, reddening with each syllable and thanking him in a hushed, embarassed voice.

Mr. Knightley, if he had felt uncomfortable, would only offer smiles and hopes of her feeling better. Emma, who in every way did not expect such a light-hearted manner, was delightfully surprised; and feeling much better off than before, let her lips curl into a small smile herself.

'I will not ask you what is wrong,' holding out an arm to her, 'but I will try to weasel it out of you on this walk.'

'You are very confidant.'

Still smiling, he said, 'Not as much I should be. Come. Let us forget our differences! I can bear this bitterness no longer.'

'Yes, let us be friends,' said Emma. 'You are the only one who shall quarrel and find fault with everything I do, Mr. Knightley, and yet, it is your good opinion I want. I am so afraid this is so much lacking at times you are able to sink me lower still!'

'Not consciously, I assure you.'

'But you still do.'

Mr. Knightley laughed. 'Ah! once again, Emma, you have made me regret my behaviour towards yourself. Perhaps that is why we can be such friends!'

'But is there anyone for you to regret your behaviour towards but myself?' teased Emma, feigning shock. 'I am alarmed, Mr. Knightley, that you could be so unfeeling outside of my influence!'

Mr. Knightley just smiled and shook his head.

'You smile, Mr. Knightley,' cried Emma; 'what are you thinking? I must know!'

'It would not be half as fun to reveal it.'

'But I will push you if the lake if you don't.'

Mr. Knightley laughed. 'You are bold, Emma, to be talking to an adult so!'

'An adult!' she cried, 'nay, Mr. Knightley, you are like a brother to me! I cannot consider you an adult.'

Mr. Knightley's smile faltered only slightly before he replied, 'I see.'

Emma stopped her playful banter and watched him fall silent. She felt her arm loosen within his, almost unconsciously, and she stared ahead and said not another word. Clearly she had touched upon a nerve; clearly, she had pained him, however slightly, in a way unreadable. Emma felt her spirits sink, and her eyes lower to the cobblestone pathway.

Nearly a minute went by before Emma nervously addressed his silence. 'Do not think I disrespect you,' she said kindly. 'I meant it only in fun.'

Mr. Knightley looked mildly surprised at this. 'Oh - yes, of course - I understand, do not - I understand. You are sixteen years my junior,' he added. 'It is only natural to think - no, I do not think that you disrespect me.'

'Good,' said she.

Another silence prompted a change in subject, but Emma had not one to give. Her feelings were strongly opposed to mentioning anything that could blacken his mood thoroughly; and yet, she willed to make amends, and though it was painful for her to think it, certainly the most obvious way was to talk about Miss Purkey. It was all her doing, Emma thought in bitterness and asperity, and the irony of it was, being the one to distance herself and Mr. Knightley, Miss Purkey was perhaps the one who could close the chasm. Irritable, most irritable, but what else was she to do?

'I recieved a lovely letter from Miss Purkey this Wednesday.'

Emma looked anywhere but at Mr. Knightley's face and continued to walk down the path. Because he was so adept at reading her (and partly because she was just a terrible liar), Emma was far was wishing to stretch the truth; and, being that this was the only letter she had not yet disposed of, and being that Mr. Knightley would probably ask to read it, she could not say that she had been in contact with the woman for over two months, in fear of his asking for the letters prior.

'Did you?' he said.

'Indeed. It was a lovely letter.'

'Really.'

'Very elegant, very fine.'

'She always had a talent for letters.'

'Really.'

'Yes.'

'Oh. How lovely.'

'She is in good health?'

'Very much so.'

'Ah.'

'Yes.'

And so ended their conversation.

Before long, they came upon a split in the road, and each feeling slightly uncomfortable with the other, bid farewell and strolled down their separate walkways.

Emma now only had to hope Miss Bates had left their humble abode, lest she bring up again the subject that had been claiming her thoughts for the past few hours hence; and that Mr. Woodhouse, who was not at all clever at interpretating inferences, had not stumbled upon her grossly exaggerated idea and taken off with it.


	4. Chapter four

I apologise for the long wait in between updates. Sorry everyone! I've been so busy, what with schoolwork and other stuff, for lack of a better word. Also I've been sick. Oh well. I'm happy everyone is enjoying this. )

- - -

Emma had no wish to speak to either Miss Taylor or her father by the time she set foot in the hallways of Hartfield, being so out of spirits for reasons she could not unearth, and having no desire to do so at the moment as to make the ordeal a rather hopeless, droll matter that seemed impossible to fix. Emma could retreat to her room to mull over everything that had happened to make her easy life suddenly so very complicated. How strange it would have been, to have looked two months ago and seen the future! To learn of Mr. Knightley's position on the brink of marriage, to have to correspond with Miss Purkey like a kind of sister-in-law to-be; it was altogether the most infuriating task there was! However, Mr. Knightley himself, in Emma's own defense, had been exceedingly mystifying. Being on the brink of matrimony, as mentioned, would it not be common to show even the slightest fathom of pride or happiness? She could not bear his mysterious behaviour. Emma had half a mind to confront him about it.

It so happened that soon after arriving home, Emma was enlightened, by Mr. Woodhouse, of her upcoming birth-day. All of the events that had postponed any thoughts of the kind were put out of Emma's head, and she dwelt on the subject of her birth-day for some time, until Miss Taylor knocked on her bedroom door and called her down to supper. She was in a flurry of spirits, and asked her father if she may have a ball at Hartfield. It was not unexpected that he said yes, and such a hearty yes it was, that Emma began thinking up preparations as soon as she began to eat.

She was endlessly thankful that Miss Taylor had the mindset not to disturb her thoughts by transferring them to afore-mentioned circumstances. A ball was just the thing to keep herself from thinking about the horrendous business of Miss Purkey.

- - -

It was around midday when Emma came across Miss Bates on her afternoon walk. The meeting would have been avoided altogether if Emma had any foresight on the matter; and though the circumstance was extraordinarily unwelcome (for Emma, with indignation, had not forgotten the comment Miss Bates had made only one day prior) she had come to grip with her spirits in well enough time to cry out a hello and try to move onward. Miss Bates, with the uncanny excitement of a bright-eyed youngster, would not have it; and impeding Emma's way with a good-natured smile and well-placed boot, made them fall in sync with each other and begin talking.

It is not to be misjudged that poor Emma, in such doleful spirits, bore any unkindness towards such a caring friend, but with Miss Bates came the restoration of Miss Purkey; and such a sensitive, dreadful subject was one that must be avoided on afternoon walks, as it will only lessen the pleasure of exercise. At least in Emma's mind it must have felt so; and being relatively free of the subject altogether, it was a kind of failure to be thinking about the insufferable woman when her mind had so long forbade it. However, it became clear in a manner of minutes that Miss Bates was not so in tune to empathy, or so uneager to beat around the bush, that she did not fail to mention Miss Purkey to her fair companion. It was brought up immediately, and Emma walked some ways in horrified silence before realising the value of gossip.

As it had been Emma's primary goal, from the beginning, to identify Miss Purkey's true character; and Miss Bates had the utmost knowledge, besides Mr. Knightley and the lady herself; would it not hurt to pry a little into her friend's mind? She would ask questions, and they would be answered; thus ascertaining her beliefs and solidifying them into unbiased truth.

Using a slight pause in Miss Bates's hurried speech to her advantage, Emma said, 'Pray, Miss Bates, I did not meet long with Miss Purkey as to ask her of her acquaintance with Mr. Knightley! How did they come to meet?'

'I would like to say it was completely like any other meeting, my dear Miss Woodhouse – but no; it was the most romantic thing ever! I dare say it has all been in our imaginations to meet a man (and such a man!) in a truly charming way. The story - according to Mother's friends - goes that at a ball some five or six years ago, Miss Purkey had been all alone in one of the corners, you know – quite a shy girl, dreadfully frightened of large crowds. She had been invited as family of the militia quartered there, and did not know a single soul. Poor thing! But she was immediately helped onto the dance floor by Mr. Knightley, whose chivalry, _certainly _Miss Woodhouse,' smiling at Emma, 'has not been lost on you.'

Emma laughed at Miss Bates's humble sincerity. 'Dear Miss Bates, surely you have read many more romantic entanglements than that! Mr. Knightley, surely, has a kind of gentility wanted in most men; but _surely_, Miss Bates,' now looking rather scornful, 'it does not warrant the promise of a romantic _elopement _of some sort!'

'Of course, my dear Miss Woodhouse, you would think such a thing!' cried Miss Bates in hearty enthusiasm. 'But you have heard but half the story.'

Emma blanched. 'Oh.'

Miss Bates, oblivious to Emma's discomfort, continued, 'They had been dancing three dances – _three, _Miss Woodhouse! Mr. Knightley was quite intent on his pretty partner! – when Miss Purkey tripped and turned her ankle. Mr. Knightley immediately went to her side and offered his arm; and when the poor creature could not move for pain, and he saw the stricken white of her face, he picked her up, just like that, and carried her home!'

Miss Bates looked positively exhilarated from the story, as if she had been dancing with Mr. Knightley herself, and it was this, along with everything else, that ground Emma's wilting nerves. 'How kind of him,' said she.

'Oh, indeed, but it was past kindness, Miss Woodhouse!' cried Miss Bates. 'Her two brothers offered to carry her, but Mr. Knightley would not have it. He was determined to carry her himself!'

Emma nodded, and in grasping the subject of her two brothers, said, 'What are the names of her brothers?'

Miss Bates frowned in thought. 'I believe the elder is William, and the younger James.'

Emma nodded again. 'I heard that her father had died and left her an estate.' She could not say this without a trace of suspicion that went unnoticed by Miss Bates. 'How very lucky of her.'

'Yes, she was the favourite out of all her brothers, and her father was always against the modern way and the idea of entailment. Quite a sophisticated man, very loving, and had the biggest heart in all of England! I had always wanted to meet him, but he was very sick, and died many years ago.'

'I was sorry to hear of it,' said Emma truthfully. 'I do not know what I would do if my father died. I would be heartbroken.'

'To be sure,' said Miss Bates, smiling sympathetically, 'any young woman would be dreadfully sorry to lose such an important figure in their life! Though it is only the thought of being alone which brings the long-term suffering, I am sure. You and Miss Purkey have such friends that it is impossible to see either of you without love, and especially _you_, Miss Woodhouse, even if your father passed away this very day.'

Emma had been listening to her words intently, and when Miss Bates finished, Emma was in no doubt that it was one of the most intelligent things she had ever said.

'Well,' said Emma, feeling much more respect for the lady, 'I pray _that_ does not happen for a long time yet.'

- - -

Emma came back to the house in strange spirits; she was neither happy nor depressed, and could not think but for a few seconds at a time about something other than Mr. Knightley. The story Miss Bates told about Miss Purkey was more than Emma could bear. Any woman would fall hard in love with such charming gentility. Could she really blame Miss Purkey for feeling the need to know him better? Marry him, perhaps, even with his mystifying indifference? Miss Bates had been correct in saying that all women wanted that kind of fairytale beginning, whether it was practical or not. The only question that remained was whether or not Mr. Knightley reciprocated her amorous feelings. If she could only get that question answered, all would be solved.

She went into the house only to find Mr. Knightley had called on her father and that they were enjoying a glass of fine wine. He gave her his usual smile and she blushed, as if afraid he had been reading her thoughts.

'Won't you sit, Emma?' said Mr. Woodhouse. 'I do so enjoy your company, and Mr. Knightley and I were just starting to play a game of whist.'

Emma, who was in the process of going up the stairs, stopped and turned around, making her way towards the two men. 'Of course, Papa, but you know how much I despise whist.'

Mr. Knightley laughed. Her father said, 'My dear! You despise whist! I did not know!'

'Oh, Papa,' said Emma, 'I have hated it ever since Mr. Knightley won against me.'

'You are afraid I just might be superior in something,' said Mr. Knightley. 'You are a silly girl. Why not play now?'

Emma replied, 'Because you will beat me, and I cannot bear to lose.'

He smiled, amused. 'Mr. Woodhouse,' said he, turning his attention to her patient father, 'since your lovely daughter will not find it in her courage to play against us, I say we start the game and see how much she is missing out on.'

Mr. Woodhouse looked at his daughter. 'I hope you shall not feel left out, my dear.'

Emma smiled and shook her head. 'Enjoy yourself, Papa, by all means.'

It was not long before Mr. Woodhouse had quite enough of cards and wine. He declared himself to be excessively tired, thanked Mr. Knightley for the game, told Emma to put on a warmer shawl (despite her assurance she was quite fine), and left the room. The clock charmed and Emma, after sitting with Mr. Knightley in awkward silence for nearly a minute, rose from her seat.

'If you'll excuse me, Mr. Knightley –' she began, and before he could say a word, she left the room.

- - -

The rest of the evening seemed rather drab, and Emma mourned over the loss of the sunshine, as she would have welcomed another walk (though perhaps solitary instead); it was mostly because she was self-exiled and confined to her quarters, because of Mr. Knightley's presence, and would have nothing to do with him. The sight of him was driving her mad, as was his innocent indifference to that irking matter at hand. She both longed and dreaded the moment when he would finally tell her, once and for all, what his feelings were towards Miss Purkey. Emma knew that she did not quite have enough courage to ask him yet, and even though her boredom was excessive, she would rather sit and wait then have to confront.

However, not for the world could Emma keep all of these bothersome feelings to herself; so when Miss Taylor came into her room to take the clothes for laundering, Emma bade her to stay.

'I have to ask your opinion on something,' said Emma very secretively. 'I suppose you remember yesterday's events? I was about to tell you what was bothering me, and Mr. Knightley came upon us and embarrassed me. I am sure you remember _that_, at least,' she added, blushing; 'you must have thought something was very wrong if I could not confront Mr. _Knightley_ about it.'

'I confess,' admitted Miss Taylor, 'I suspected something was very wrong indeed. You were in tears, my dear! Not since you were a small child had I seen you so upset.'

Emma nodded her head in agreement, her cheeks coloured silently. 'Well, it is all the more reason to tell you – you have always been my faithful friend and mentor. I suppose,' she began slowly, 'I suppose that I'm feeling rather angry, flustered, and confused. You do know,' said Emma quickly, as if a thought had just sprung out of midair, 'that Mr. Knightley was – though it is uncertain whether he still _is_ – planning to marry?'

Miss Taylor looked shocked, but before she could say anything, Emma cried, 'It is so terribly stupid, when I think about it! But I loathe her so much!'

'Who, Emma?'

'The lady Mr. Knightley is to marry, of course!' cried Emma in great agitation. 'She's so horrid, I can hardly stand her! Though I _must_ like her, because Mr. Knightley obviously does, and my father and my sister talk of her as if she were a deity! I quite detest the way they talk. She's such a sickly creature, stringy red hair all in knots, and a blotted face with little character, and she calls Mr. Knightley _George_! _George_, Miss Taylor! And she sends me letters!' Emma added, rushing to her writing desk and pulling out the latest one she had not yet found the time to burn. Miss Taylor looked at it.

'What is so wrong with her writing letters to you?' she asked quietly.

Emma brandished the letter violently. 'Have you read the letters, Miss Taylor? They are filled with rubbish, absolute nonsense, and she insists that I write her back!'

'Do you?'

'Of course I do!' cried Emma. 'It is the only proper thing to do! If I should not, she may think I dislike her!'

Miss Taylor could not help but laugh at such ludicrousness.

Emma looked sternly at her governess. 'I will not have her thinking I am vulgar and crass.'

They were both silent. Finally, Miss Taylor spoke:

'Do you want to know my opinion, little Emma?' said she, coming over to her agitated friend and smoothing down her hair. Emma nodded. 'Here it is. I do not see anything about this lady that should make you so angry, though I understand that you may be apt to see faults in her more than I, as I have not yet met her. However,' she continued thoughtfully, 'I do believe that what you are describing is jealousy.'

'I am hardly _jealous_,' said Emma indignantly, as though offended at the thought, 'because I am not being selfish. I am doing this all because Mr. Knightley deserves better.'

'You have been the only young woman in his life for as long as you can remember. It must be disconcerting, at the very least, to have someone _else_ claiming his affections.'

Emma could not tell Miss Taylor that she was right; her young pride and her stubbornness would not allow it. And it was soon clear that she was much too concerned with the state of her feelings and the messages of her heart to give her governess the satisfaction of being correct in her assumptions. She supposed that because Miss Purkey was who she was, she had never a chance for Emma's affections, having them already lost in the rage of jealousy that enveloped Emma whenever she saw them together (or, even later, when she just heard the lady's name). Despite this revelation, Emma could not like Miss Purkey, even if she had, by Miss Taylor's standards, done no wrong.

By Emma's silence Miss Taylor knew herself heard, and she left the bedroom with the clothes before Emma could defend herself.


	5. Chapter five

Hello, all! Sorry for the long time in between updates. I was visiting some relatives and it took longer than I expected... Long story short, I didn't have a computer for a week or so, so I couldn't do anything in way of updating.

I hope everyone has a good holiday! Have a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah! And, for others, have a good winter break!

Cheers,

-Marilolo

- - -

As excited as she was for her ball, and counted down the very seconds until its beginning, Emma could not but express (if only to herself) the anxiety that came with it. Mr. Woodhouse wanted to make the celebration a hearty one, and insisted upon bringing almost everyone of Emma's acquaintance. This, to her dismay, inevitably brought Miss Purkey, and it was with irritated footsteps that Emma returned back to her quarters upon hearing such news, finding solace only in the fact that Mr. Woodhouse could not read her feelings on the matter. He believed, and so must most, that Emma was completely and utterly content.

She longed to speak to Mr. Knightley in the old way – not as strangers, as it seemed they were becoming. They spoke, but it was only out of necessity; they smiled, but it seemed a mere façade; and every time Emma went near him he turned away, and she, losing her nerve, would abandon her quest to repair. Every day seemed to remind her of Miss Taylor's words, and every day Emma wondered if Mr. Knightley knew her heart and was disappointed in her. It seemed the only likely truth, though she dared not believe it thoroughly, instead dwelling on the upcoming ball. And like all things long-awaited, it took longer than she wished, but it arrived as planned, on her birthday, and not a moment too soon.

Emma had resolved to confront Mr. Knightley and plead forgiveness, if necessary; she had made preparations, hardened herself to the fact that he might lecture her. But she was willing to take his abuse in return for complete and absolute answers. Usually her own dignity and pride would not permit it; but as everything seemed on the brink of collapse, Emma was willing to do anything. And in no time, the evening of the ball was upon them.

She had taken extreme pains to refresh her appearance, and curl her hair to twist into an elegant bun, and coordinate the color of her shoes with the color of her dress, and made sure she and Miss Taylor both were very pleased with her countenance before descending the stairs into the ballroom. Her father was the first person to spot her, and broke into a string of raptures that caught everyone's eye and ear. He held his daughter at arm's length and exclaimed that she looked like an angel, that she was the belle of the ball – the loveliest young lady in the room!

Emma laughed as if to brush off the compliments. 'Oh, Papa, you say such things every day – how am I supposed to believe you?'

'Because you have a second opinion,' said another male voice. Emma looked up in surprise and delight at Mr. Knightley, who immediately took her hand and brought it to his lips. He smiled, drew her from Mr. Woodhouse, and said, 'You are truly growing up, Emma. I am very proud of you.'

Oh, what better indication of warmth and feeling did she need? Emma's heart swelled at his words, and indeed all that she had feared seemed now groundless and unproven. Even if by accident, she had redeemed herself in his eyes, and felt all the better for it. If she did not see him but once more that same evening, she would have been quite content, so deep had his words touched her.

It seemed as if all of Highbury had come to her ball, and Emma was genuinely delighted. She saw Miss Bates, Miss Nash, and Mrs. Goddard gossiping by the punch table, all smiles and friendliness; Isabella and John, standing next to a roaring fire, talking to Mr. Woodhouse (little Henry was tugging on his mother's dress, asking for white soup); Mr. Knightley had left her side to converse with old Mrs. Bates, in his common gentleman-like way; and Mr. Perry, the apothecary, passed Emma and complimented her graciously, for her blooming state of health and her elegant party, at which Emma bowed her head and smiled.

There were two gentlemen, however, who Emma was not acquainted with; and she, overcome with curiosity, made her way over to Miss Bates, keeping her eye on the younger of the two: a fair-haired, bright-eyed, stout-chinned young man about two and twenty, considerably handsome, and who had a very proud and dignified air that seemed to caress his own countenance. He seemed to be a well-rounded kind of young man, and Emma took a liking to him at once, and was determined to know his name and business.

Miss Bates was delighted to answer any questions Emma had, and said (in a whisper that promptly failed in its singular duty) that he, and the other gentlemen, were the brothers of Miss Purkey.

'They are quite handsome, are they not? Pity Miss Purkey could not come, we all do so love her – but her brothers are very nice company as well … They came up from Bath this very day … perhaps I shall go introduce myself …' At that same moment, however, Mrs. Goddard dragged Miss Bates back into conversation, and Emma was left to reflect upon her own thoughts without the ramblings of her friend to distract her.

She could not readily place her feelings. Miss Purkey's brothers? everything about their relations was grossly disagreeable, but, as it could be supposed, Emma was much gladder that that awful lady had not been able to make it herself, though she suspected she would receive a very thick letter indeed by the next day's mail, apologising for missing the event. It would be agonizing to read, but at least Emma would not have to face her in person.

Emma had been watching the two gentlemen discreetly for some time, and Emma concluded that despite being her brothers, they resembled nothing of Miss Purkey's air or tone, and was consoled. She had suspected that they might be there just to take her place, to perhaps keep a close watch on Mr. Knightley – but after a while, the thought was deemed preposterous. They never looked once in his direction. They seemed safe enough; Emma could detect no harm in them; it would be best, perhaps, to go introduce herself.

Gathering her wits about her, and smoothing down her hair unnecessarily, she sauntered towards them. When she neared, they looked up from their conversation, and Emma's face was engulfed in a shy and rather inevitable blush that covered her cheeks from ear to ear.

The two brothers looked her over, somewhat perplexed, and Emma wondered if they perhaps did not know her by face, but by name. It was evident that they appreciated her nonetheless – they both seemed pleased by her coloured cheek and slender form, and took note of her clever eyes. As she stood and smiled as she ought, she introduced herself, and both gentlemen broke into smiles. The younger (James, Emma recalled) said:

'So _you _are the talented Emma whom my dear sister has been raving about! A pleasure! This is your ball, is it not?'

'Yes, sir, I am fifteen today.'

The older of the two men, whom she remembered was William, said in a very flat, tired voice, 'I am rather surprised. You have a much older look about you.'

Emma smiled, inwardly wondering if that was considered a compliment or not.

'Don't mind William, Emma,' said James, grinning; 'he does not know what fun is.'

He looked over at her and smiled playfully, and Emma felt her heart flutter inside her chest. She must have been blushing, for James cried, 'But I have embarrassed you! I am dreadfully sorry. I get ahead of myself. I have not even been properly introduced!' He took her hand, kissed it, and said in an exaggerated voice: 'Hello, my darling – I am James Purkey, and I will be your escort this evening.' As Emma laughed, he lowered his voice. 'If I may, that is. Lovely young girls like yourself should not be without an escort for a moment.'

'Mr. Purkey –'

'James.'

'James,' said Emma with an amused smile, 'I live here. I need no escort, however honoured -'

'I understand. But you _will _dance with me?'

Emma was quite taken aback. She found it rather inappropriate to refuse (but also rather inappropriate to accept) and looked around as if to stall her decision. There was no one to save her from this situation, unfortunately, and so Emma said warmly, 'Of course, and I will introduce you to my father.'

She was just about to lead James away across to her father, when a very peculiar sight met her eyes. William, whom she had not realised left until that moment, had spotted Miss Taylor on the stairs, and was speaking to her! Not that Emma was surprised, for Miss Taylor was the epitome of all that was good and ladylike; but to be so distinctly sought out from such a crowd – it was delightful and amazing all at once, William Purkey was smiling and talking, quite rid of his dull demeanor, Miss Taylor in a fluster of self-conscious spirits; smoothing her dress, blushing, smiling, laughing. Emma was so entranced by this exchange that she did not notice Mr. Knightley's expression until she turned back to continue her own excursion. There she was stopped short by his flushed cheeks and stern, straight mouth. Emma was all shock; God save the man who received Mr. Knightley's glare at that moment! William Purkey, it seemed, was the target, but Emma could not understand why – that is, until she saw Miss Taylor's warmth, which concealed only a small portion of both party's actual flirtation. Emma was speechless; it was impossible! but no, it seemed – Mr. Knightley was disdainfully jealous, and of William's growing place in Miss Taylor's heart!

'Is that your father there?' asked James curiously, beckoning towards the fire. Emma looked.

'Yes,' she said breathlessly, still amazed by her discovery. 'Yes – I will go introduce you.'

- - -

Emma had not any time to speak to Mr. Knightley during the entirety of the ball – James had requested dance after dance, and when she was not in his clutches she was constantly being addressed by friends and family, and could not get away. She did not want to talk to him on the subject that had been occupying her very excitable mind; well, perhaps she _did_, but it was not wise, for it would only anger him, and Emma felt too well the joys of his being her friend to jeopardise it. No, what she really wanted was to ask him about Miss Purkey's absence from the ball – it was subtle, but close enough to bring around a more interesting subject; one in which Emma was particularly interested.

Finally, when the guests began to leave in their carriages, kissing and calling good-bys to their hospitable hosts, Emma slipped without notice into the middle of the well-worn pathway that connected Donwell Abbey and Hartfield. She was hoping that Mr. Knightley had not his generous tact in saying his own adieus tonight, because she was simply dying to speak to him and was fearful of sitting down on a bench all night waiting for him.

She did not have to wait long. She soon found him walking swiftly down the path towards her, looking simply rattled and confused and bearing, to Emma's dismay, the same tight-lipped frown that he wore watching William and Miss Taylor. She was sure that even she could not face such a look from Mr. Knightley, even if it was not directed _to _her, but towards her.

Emma was a girl of firm mind, and recalling this about herself, she raised her spirit and morale. She would not falter because of a mere _look! _The thought was stupid, trivial, petty, and Emma stepped out of the shadows to greet him.

She immediately feigned surprise, but Mr. Knightley was not to be fooled. Sighing heavily, he sank onto the bench she had recently occupied.

'What is it, Emma, which brings you here to question me? I am not stupid,' he said sharply as Emma made to contradict him. 'You know that, I am sure, well enough.'

She was at a loss for words; he had taken away her plan of innocence, and was now forced to go about her questioning bluntly. She mouthed wordlessly for a moment, her ingenious dulled by surprise.

'I apologise,' said Mr. Knightley suddenly, in a very tired voice; 'you do not deserve my bad mood. I have just been ... preoccupied. But you need not face my wrath. Go run home, Emma, your father may be looking for you.'

'What kind of friend would I be, to leave you in such a bad mood?' said Emma firmly. 'No, I will not go home. I will stay here until you tell me what is on your mind.'

He laughed, and it seemed like some of his good humour was returning. 'I cannot escape you, can I? Very well, Emma, I will tell you. Miss Purkey is getting married.'

Emma's heart contracted grievously and she said quietly, 'To you?'

Mr. Knightley laughed. 'No, no, my dear, not to me. I would not be so very depressed if she was to marry me. She is marrying somebody else.'

Emma tried to look anywhere but at his face, inwardly rejoicing at this very agreeable news. 'I'm very sorry, Mr. Knightley, I knew you loved her so.'

'Oh, Emma,' cried Mr. Knightley laughingly, 'you sweet girl! I knew how much you dislike her, no need to beat around the bush. I appreciate your concern, but, I don't think you understand – there was once a time where I did love Miss Purkey ... but, that time is gone. I am more concerned about the respectability of Miss Purkey's so-called "good match", and – the woman I truly care for.' He smiled at Emma and patted her hand. 'But though you are still young, I can still imagine sometimes that I'm talking to someone older and wiser than even myself. For, in many ways, you are.'

As he spoke, Emma's mind raced. Oh, happy news! He was in love with Miss Taylor! Emma herself could not dream up abetter match.

Emma's smile was genuine as she watched Mr. Knightley bow and dismiss himself from her, walking briskly up the pathway towards Donwell Abbey.


	6. Chapter six

I hope everyone had a happy New Year! Sorry this chapter took so long. It's the direct cause of laziness and holidays, I'm afraid. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and thank you very much for the reviews last chapter. They definitely raised my spirits.

Cheers,

-Marilolo

- - -

Emma was so excited for the next morning that she could hardly sleep a wink, a very peculiar change, for she usually slept extremely well. It seemed as if all signs were pointing, gesturing, towards the possibility of Mr. Knightley's being in love with Miss Taylor. It could be no other way. Even the finest friend could not; nay, _would_ not dislike the attentions of a fellow man upon his own. Emma's heart beat inside her chest happily as she recalled the incident – oh, what a good and positive match! And it made perfect sense, after Mr. Knightley's being free of Miss Purkey's clutches like a bird released from its cage. And to think that his feelings were shown simply because William Purkey had decided to pay Miss Taylor attention. Ah!

When Mr. Knightley called the next morning (as she knew he would), Emma did not come downstairs, even when Miss Taylor called her. She was determined to have them sit and talk. Emma fussed with her buttons slowly, looking around the room to pass the time. How delightful it would be! She would come downstairs, they would be talking, sitting close to each other, smiling, and then – and then –

Good God! What would happen then? Emma gripped the railing of the staircase more tightly than usual as she descended the stairs as shakily as if she might be sick. Good God! Her head forced her to continue, her heart wailing to turn back. She could not force herself into matters that were of no consequence to her; she should go away, leave, simply vanish from all possible contact and then – then, she could breathe. Emma was about to run back up to her bedroom when she heard someone hailing her.

'Oh, there you are, Emma,' Miss Taylor said, walking by the stairs with a tray laden with tea. 'Did you not hear me call? Mr. Knightley came by for a visit.'

Emma nearly suffocated at her words. 'Are you well, Emma?' Miss Taylor asked concernedly. As she surveyed her face, she seemed to be searching for the right words. 'You look ... odd.'

'I am quite well, really,' Emma replied quickly. She opened her mouth to develop this further but hurriedly decided against it. Miss Taylor's shrewd eye was taking in her every movement. Saying nothing else, she rushed past her into the sitting-room, pinching her cheeks as if afraid the color might not return quickly enough. What had plagued her so? Emma could not think for blushing. Oh, but she had the will of a simpleton! How stupid of her to feel _embarrassed_ or _uncomfortable_ aiding friends! For shame, she scolded herself irritably. I must compose myself if I am to be any use.

Mr. Knightley himself was sitting on a chair next to the fireplace, but when Emma entered, he stood up and smiled at her.

'Emma.' He inclined his head slightly. Emma smiled.

'Good morning, Mr. Knightley,' said she. She gestured for him to sit down and wished that she had eyes at the back of her head to draw Miss Taylor with. 'What brings you by? Any important or interesting news you would like to distribute among us simple folk?'

He laughed. 'I am afraid not, Emma. It seems that our Highbury is very slow for gossip this time of year. I have called to check up on your father's health. He had a rather throaty cough last evening and it demanded attention. Nothing too serious, of course, but as a friend I could not pass by without seeing him.'

Emma, had she felt any more daring, would have contradicted him. She knew he was here to see Miss Taylor, as surely asshe knew he would come last night when she laid in bed thinking about it. Rather than noting this, however, she merely nodded her head and smiled demurely – as, for his benefit, it would not do for him to know that his feelings had been discovered so early on.

By a stroke of good fortune Miss Taylor had just entered the room carrying the tea tray, and Emma seized this moment vivaciously by exclaiming, 'Oh, do excuse me, Mr. Knightley, but I must prepare for my walk to the Bates's. I will be back in a moment.'

Mr. Knightley looked as relieved as Emma felt in leaving the room, and to her surprise (and slight bewilderment at its taking so short a time), Mr. Knightley immediately engaged Miss Taylor in a conversation that was impossible to hear from across the room. She stationed herself outside the doorway and strained her ears for the slightest information, but it was fruitless. Oh, what bad, manipulative luck! She did not want to go in, for fear of disturbing this delicate situation, and yet she was simply dying to know what they were saying.

Frustrated and outwitted by bad luck, Emma left the doorway and wandered aimlessly for a couple of minutes before returning to the room. The element of surprise was her ally, and so powerful an ally that Emma heard distinctly the words "Emma" and "Purkey" before calling Mr. Knightley and Miss Taylor to attention. They both looked at her warily as she entered the room (guiltily, Emma thought triumphantly), Miss Taylor nodded her head for Mr. Knightley, and left their midst. Emma, in her own way, was not unhappy at this. Seeing them together for _too _long was more than her little heart could bear.

'Ah. Emma,' said Mr. Knightley as soon as Miss Taylor had left the room. 'When are you going over to the Bates's?'

'Soon,' said Emma evasively. Then, nonchalantly: 'How did you like the ball, Mr. Knightley?'

Emma thought she saw a flash of unbridled emotion sweep across his face, but she was not quite sure. 'It was elegant and enjoyable, as you know. I was happy to see that most of Highbury had been obliged to come; you must be happy to have so many caring friends. After all, fifteen –' and here Mr. Knightley paused, looking strangely at her.

'Are you going to say that fifteen is a very large number for such a naïve child?' teased Emma in full spirits. 'I quite understand. I often think it myself and wonder where all the time has gone. Being a child has its advantages that adulthood lacks, I am afraid.'

'You are not quite an _adult_, Emma –' protested Mr. Knightley in a way that reminded Emma so much of her father that she commented on it, laughing. Mr. Knightley did not say anything but sat completely still. Misinterpreting his silence, she raised her eyebrows delicately.

'Well, if I am not a child and I am not an adult, then what am I?' asked Emma playfully. However, she sensed his moodiness and immediately cast down her eyes, fidgeting absently with the hem of her dress.

'If you are not comfortable discussing this with me –' began Emma.

Mr. Knightley suddenly grabbed her hands tightly so that Emma's eyes shot up and widened. 'No, no, it is quite all right,' said he. He released her hands as if they had burned him. 'Oh, my dearest Emma, do not misunderstand me! You turning fifteen, it is – it is like watching time slip through my fingers; I am most glad for you, but it is a shock for me; me, who you have considered as both a father and brother –'

'Father and brother indeed!' cried Emma scornfully. 'I have decided that you are much too fatherly to be a brother and I already have a father, so I will hear no more about it! I consider you a friend, Mr. Knightley, the finest of friends; I had hoped you would think of me in the same way.'

Gathering up all her brave spirits, Emma determinedly looked him in the eye. She was relieved to see his lips gradually form into a smile and his eyes alight again with good humour.

There was a quiet knock at the door and Miss Taylor came in. Mr. Knightley immediately stood up and moved slightly away from Emma; she had not realised their proximity.

'Emma, dear, you have a visitor,' said Miss Taylor delicately.

Emma felt Mr. Knightley tense beside her as she responded: 'Who is it, Miss Taylor?'

'Mr. James Purkey.' Emma thought she heard some anger in Miss Taylor's voice, but could not imagine the reason why and dismissed the thought.

'I will go to him,' said Emma quickly. 'I will see what he wants. Excuse me, Miss Taylor – Mr. Knightley –'

For some reason or another, she found that she did not want to look at Mr. Knightley. Exiting the room hastily, she kept her eyes forward and did not spare them a backward glance.

- - -

Emma soon found, upon reaching the front door where James stood, hat in hand, that he had meant to talk with her about something most important, and he desired her company for a walk. Obliging as ever, she agreed, and hurriedly fetched her shawl before they set off.

However, as they walked along the tree-lined pathway, Emma's thoughts were so fixated on Mr. Knightley's strange behaviour that she could hardly focus on her handsome companion. James was silent, but it was not a nervous silence and Emma was happy for the time being. She was slightly apprehensive about walking with him, when they had met only briefly; and she wished that Mr. Knightley would have come along. But, she thought with a sudden surge of unreasonable resentment, he was probably engaged with Miss Taylor and would not care where she had gone, or with whom.

'What are your thoughts, Emma?' asked James suddenly.

Emma jumped, startled. It had come as a shock to her when he had addressed her with her Christian name before, but now, in such private settings, it made her feel quite uneasy. She wished he would call her Miss Woodhouse instead of Emma. Emma was reserved only for her most intimate friends.

'Hardly anything of importance,' said she, with a dazzling smile to cover her thoughts. 'It was good of you to visit, Mr. P – James –' and, recovering quickly, 'I had thought you were returning to Bath quite soon.'

James merely grinned and shrugged. 'I could not go without saying good-by to you first, my dear. However, on a whim I have decided to stay, so that will hardly be necessary. William has already left, but that is fine news to me – he is such a bore.' Good, Emma thought, at least _Mr. Knightley_'s hopes can rise now. James continued, looking behind him: 'I did not interrupt anything back at Hartfield, I hope?'

'No – no, of course not,' assured Emma. 'I was just talking to an old friend.'

James seemed interested. 'Oh?'

'Yes, he came by this morning –'

'_He_?' asked James in surprise. Then, coolly: 'Oh, you _must_ mean George Knightley.'

'Of course,' said Emma. 'He has known me since I was born.'

There was something strange about the way James mentioned Mr. Knightley's name, something _off_. However, Emma did not comment on it. Instead, she kept walking, saying:

'So, James, how long are you planning –'

James interrupted as if he had not heard her. 'My dear sister, bless her little heart, loved George Knightley very much. She positively _raved_ about him. No man was half the man as _he_ was; no man was half as gentle or kind; no man compared to George Knightley! William and I heard most of the stories, her dreams of marrying him ...' James paused. 'It saddened us immensely when he stopped writing her. Five years, Emma! Five years he stopped writing her! And then, for some fancy or another, he visited her a few months ago as if they had never parted, brought her to Highbury, made her believe that he was planning matrimony. How he toyed with her heart! I find him despicable. I was glad when my dear sister finally came to her senses and married. To think he could have been the heir of my father's house – it chills my heart.'

Emma had never thought it possible that anyone could dislike Mr. Knightley, for he was to her the epitome of all that was good and right. How such a man could despise him, when his sister loved? – how was it possible? How was it possible that Mr. Knightley could toy with someone's emotions so hurtfully? It was simply impossible.

'I believe you are mistaken, sir,' said Emma coldly. 'Mr. Knightley is not capable of your accusations.'

James dismissed this with a wave of his hand. 'It is only natural for you to believe it, since he is your friend. But, if you trust me at all, listen: George Knightley is not what he appears. He brought great hurt upon my sister, and I am afraid that he will bring hurt upon you as well –'

'Do not presume to know who and who will not bring hurt upon me!' she cried passionately. 'I would trust Mr. Knightley with my life! You, however, are just an acquaintance! Your insolence shocks me, sir, and I will hear no more of it. I am leaving!'

Emma turned on her heel and began walking back towards Hartfield. She was afraid James would stop her but he did not. Stupid, fool of a man! she cried inwardly. What does he know? Emma felt like she would burst into tears if she did not make it back soon. The shock of such a scandalous, horrid accusation, of someone as kind as Mr. Knightley, was so revolting that Emma could not stand it. But – and it was the most ghastly thought of all – what reason but the truth did James have against Mr. Knightley? It was hardly a comforting idea, and Emma immediately regretted it crossing her mind.

I will not let it get to me, Emma resolved. There must have been a mistake.

Though somehow, Emma doubted so.


End file.
